Albert Fish: On the Back of Death
by dustin.b.mcclain
Summary: Albert Fish wrote many letters in his life. Most of those letters were never released to the public due to their graphic nature. Here is released letter written by Albert Fish telling of his experience growing up in St. John's Orphanage. THIS IS EXTREMELY GRAPHIC! (not really written by Fish, research was done on his life, writing style, and St. John's for accuracy)


Albert Fish:

On the back of Death

I have had a child in every state. Some states I ate more, but at least one special little boy or girl was taken for their own sake. They don't know what it is meant to be someone like me. They will never understand that I was suppose to be. I will make them see the elephant. So you want to know what God's goodness is? How could you understand his good if you don't know his evil? I am not the right hand, I am not the left, I am the body and I am Christ. I have a body and blood to give and I gave it. Those sadistic tight-laced nuns took all they wanted of my body and blood.

That's where it all started. A little boy, I was five years old when my dear mother, Ellen R. Fish, sent me to St. John's Orphanage at 1922 F Street, NW in Washington D.C. My father, Randall Fish, was a very hard working man up to his death and had just had his five year anniversary at the fertilizer business he started when he collapsed from a heart attack. I barely knew him and can hardly recall his face. He worked very hard to take care of us kids. The only times I recall receiving attention from him was when I acted up. I saw him with his cold stare. I can't remember him speaking. His stoned silence was all I could remember.

I now find myself being aroused, haunted, and sometimes I can feel pain. It was never like the pain I remember. The lovely pain those wicked nuns gifted me. St. John was done proud by those nuns. I'm sure had ole St. Johnny came to fill the bowl, those bitch nuns would have beat him naked too.

After our father died my mother couldn't afford to keep me at home. I had three older brothers and one older sister; Edwin, Walter, Albert, and Annie. They named me "Hamilton". I hated that name. Those older boys in the orphanage used that name against me. "Ham and Eggs" or "Ham Fish". Once a boy drew a picture of a pig head on a fish body. The other boys found much humor in referring the drawing to my mother. I tried to rip the one boy's face off.

We received spankings everyday. At least once a day we were lined up. That was a good day. Our best behavior still didn't stop what the nuns called, "preventative measure". They would say God is loving and some children needed to be punished for what they _will_ do.

When I first arrived at St. John's Orphanage, it was the end of 1875. During the winter time we stayed in the winter home on F street near downtown Washington. It was a lugubrious building of stone and window. There was also a Summer house on Columbia Pike in Arlington, Virginia that most of the children migrated to during the day. I didn't get to go, only the "good" little boys and girls went. They graded our behavior with "marks." Those that had good marks received special treats or outings off the Orphanage grounds. I never got any of that. The nuns always had it out for me. All they wanted was obedient lick-spittles.

The orphanage was split between boys and girls with each having their respected Governess. The boys were label by their age group with the youngest being, "insects" and eldest being "Seniors." Under the Governess where four other Sisters in charge of day to day care. One in particular had a special distaste for me, Sister Cora. It had it's own hospital with a doctor and dentist. I went there often.

They didn't care how old any of the boys were, we were all skinned of childhood in the same rooms. The orphanage was overcrowded at times and some of us had to share beds. Most of the Senior boys had always been there. They were to be my secondary teachers to the Nuns. I saw those boys take the younger ones at night, almost every night. Nobody stopped them, nobody but the victims cared to stop them.

One time those older boys had chased this horse downhill of this field at a farm we were hired to pick berries at. They tied that old horse to the fence they had trapped him by. They put kerosene on his tail, lit it, and then cut the rope to watch him try to flee from the fire. That poor old horse.

I recall the night those boys held me down and rapped me. I couldn't fight back, I couldn't do a thing to resist. I knew I couldn't even tell anyone about what happen because those nuns would make some pumpkins about it. All I could do was bite through the pain and try to hide the growing erection underneath me. Those boys just laughed as they did what they wanted. I cried in anger to myself and I felt my face get hot with disgust as each thrust from their adolescent penises ripped the lining of my asshole. They left me bleeding and crying alone in my bunk.

The next day I remembered I could hardly walk. I had cried so hard and the pain in my stomach felt like needles. Yet the Nuns wanted me to do my chores like everyone else. I couldn't. I was in too much pain to move. Sister Eleanor noticed the bloody spots on the seat of my trousers and asked what happened. I was dead set on revenge and so I said I sat in something, which was a terrible lie. She yanked me up by my arm and pasted my pants to my knees, then down to my ankles. She asked me if I had been playing with myself in which I replied I had not, yet she thought that too was a lie and began to drag me to Sister Cora. Sister Cora was very willing to punish me.

The cabinet held many types of belts, whips, and paddles, each meant for different types of punishment. It didn't matter what they pulled out of that cabinet, they hit us as hard as they could with what ever they had. When I was shoved in the cold room naked, the Sister Cora pull out one of the sticks. I started to scream to her about what happened. I told her how the boys held me down, how I hurt. She told me to stay where I was. She left and came back with the other four boys. She beat me first, for lying and then for giving those boys a reason to be sexually aroused. Then she began to beat the other boys.

After my punishment was done and I saw what was being done to them. It made me happy. It made me very happy. She had stripped those boys down too. She began first by lining them up and beating them all at once with the long rod. The boys took this beating very well and didn't cry out. Since that didn't suit her, Sister Cora began beating them one by one. While she did this, she made me stand in front of them. She told them to look at my face while she whipped them. That was one of my happiest moments in that forsaken hell hole. Those boys that cared nothing for me and how I felt, I saw the anguish in their eyes. I saw the pain I felt under their torturous ways. Their screams sounded like orgasms to me. Each swing, slap, crack, and scream. I started to get an erection. I couldn't help but to feel so good seeing those boys naked and beaten. They had just rapped me, They had just made me feel helpless, now I get to look in their eyes as they are helpless.

The only bad part is that I was naked too, so when the perceptive Sister Cora noticed my erection, she reached over and slapped my erect penis. I moved before she could get a second hit like Thompson's Colt. This infuriated her. She told the boys they had to hold my penis while she whipped them. I enjoyed myself immensely. I tried to not show my enjoyment to the nun. If she saw that I was liking it she may have cut it off.

This brought the other four boys and I together very closely. After that day, I was no longer their victim. I was their friend. We would stay up at nights and fuck each other or suck each other off. We would steal food and use treats to bargain sex out of the other boys. It was easier to get what we wanted from the "insects". If we couldn't bargain, we would just take. Day after day those Nuns reinforced our conditions. My Bible lessons were the only thing I excelled at that the Nuns praised. I would read the stories of the vengeful god of the old testament. I would dream it was me bringing the plagues down on this deteriorated world.

I was there 'til I was nearly nine, and that's where I got started wrong. I saw boys doing many things they should not have done. I was one of them. By the time I was nine, my mother landed a job with the government which meant a steady income. She was able to bring me home. It wasn't until I got home that I found out my brother before me had died. My brother "Albert". I wasn't old enough when I left to remember much about my siblings. It seemed like that Orphanage was a lifetime of it's own.

I took the name of Albert instead of that atrocious "HAM-itlon"…. I vowed when I left the orphanage that I would never loose again. I would always be the upper hand. Being home at first felt dreadfully boring compared to life I had become accustomed to in the orphanage. I was able to get allot of things I wanted in the Orphanage. I was able to fuck any boy I wanted, we had public bathrooms, all the sweet treats I ever wanted. I will have to go and find my own sweet treats now.


End file.
